


All The Necessary Components

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Alliances, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anger, Annoyance, Blindness, Caretaking, Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional Relationships, Embarrassment, Forced Bonding, Frustration, Help, Ice Skating, Isolation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Selves, Prophetic Visions, Public Humiliation, The Host wants to be anywhere else, Trust Issues, Vulnerability, Whose idea was it to force him to skate?, You get one guess, crankiness, this was supposed to be fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 17:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: The Host had been alive for four years and nine months and in that span of time, he had never stepped foot on a skating rink. There were fairlyobviousreasons for that, but somehow that didn’t stop the others from snatching away his pen, taking ahold of his arms and dragging him out the door with them.





	All The Necessary Components

The Host had been alive for four years and nine months and in that span of time, he had never stepped foot on a skating rink.

There were fairly _obvious_ reasons for that. Slipping and skidding out on the ice wasn’t an enjoyable pastime; there was no advantage to it, even when one had functional eyes, and what if he seized up? What if a vision overtook him when he was in the middle of a precarious movement and he got hurt? What if others were frightened of his appearance, as he _knew_ they would be? Not only that—he had absolutely no interest in skating. He was busy working and he could function quite properly without leaving the Egos Central grounds.

“No. The Host fully intends never to set foot on a skating rink,” he vowed surely as soon as the others brought it up.

Somehow that didn’t stop them from snatching away his pen, taking ahold of his arms and dragging him out the door with them. Though he could easily stop them with reality-warping force if he wanted to, the Host could sense that their determination to make it work would make a fight even uglier. He finally stopped his protesting when Wilford nudged the barrel of his gun into his side, where the others couldn’t see, and whispered sweetly, “Got extra bandages on you, Host?”

From there on out, the Host focused on using his Foresight to mind where he stepped.

The bench at the outdoor skating rink was icy, the cold seeping through his heavy trench coat and making his butt numb. Every so often he fidgeted and fussed with the skates lying in his lap, his Sight flickering in and out as he glanced around for the others. They were preparing, getting their own skates on, and they probably wanted him to start doing the same, but he was more preoccupied with the stares of the passersby. He didn’t need his Sight to know they were there; he could _feel_ them judging him.

Gritting his teeth, he ducked his head over his skates, tugging restlessly on the laces, and then looked back up just as quickly, warning sharply, “The Host does not appreciate Googleplier hovering over him without letting him know his intent.”

“My mistake,” Google snarked lightly, whirring as he came and settled down next to him, folding his arms over his chest. “I felt I should let someone know that I’m only here for reconnaissance on the foolish humans I intend to destroy. None of the others are listening.”

“Google is welcome to it, if that’s what entertains him,” The Host replied neutrally, after which there was a long silence.

Though he and Google were acquaintances through Dark—and even more so since Dark had suggested their partnership—he and Google still didn’t interact very often. The android was more than a year younger than him and as often as he spoke about ending mankind, he didn’t seem to be making as much progress as Dark on that front. Dark was forever twisting and tearing, inventing and manipulating, constantly looking for the edge that would give him the world. Google seemed to be…biding his time. While the Host was a fairly patient man, he couldn’t imagine why his current companion would _have_ to be. He had the skills: any range of combat known to the internet, a supremely analytical mind, a sadistic edge to match Dark’s…In the Host’s opinion, if Google really wanted to take his mission seriously, he ought to be more proactive and make it his _primary_ objective.

“If Google intends to perform reconnaissance, should he not move onto the rink?” the Host broke the silence logically, slipping his cold hands into his pockets. He’d rather be alone with his thoughts at the moment and that was his politest way of asking. Google seemed to sense that, but he still didn’t move.

“…I require a companion,” he huffed at last, begrudging. “One who can easily dispose of a body in case I happen to pick off a few humans along the way.”

“Then the Host suggests Wilford.”

“Warfstache is messy about it; he takes his time to show off the kill or at least try to excuse it, which is obviously not what I need. You can simply narrate the situation out of existence,” Google pointed out, reaching over the Host’s nearest arm and lifting the skates out of his lap. “Not only that, but Wilford’s threat to shoot you if you don’t cooperate still stands. It’d be beneficial to both of us if that were avoided.”

He had noticed that threat? Before the Host could comment on that, his shoes were being slipped off without his permission, exposing his feet to the freezing air. He stiffened, opening his mouth to bark at Google as he curled his toes further into his socks, but the android grabbed him by the ankles and shoved them into the clunky ice skates just as quickly, lacing them up with immaculate precision and the perfect snugness. Slightly startled, the Host tapped his feet testingly, hearing the solid clink of the blades underneath him. He wasn’t sure his legs would hold up as well.

“If Googleplier insists on taking him out…” he began in a low, exasperated tone, “the Host requests that Google take ahold of his arm.”

That Google did without question, interlacing their arms and guiding him over the cracks in the pavement as they made their way to the ice. It felt like a much longer journey than it probably was, the Host noted, pressing his lips firmly together and keeping his stance as dignified as he could while shuffling along. Google wasn’t exactly encouraging, but his directions served well.

“Two steps to your right. One step forward with your right foot leading. Left foot out three inches.”

The Host was this close to barking a laugh. Were they _waltzing?_ He couldn’t imagine what it looked like to those watching—and there were people watching. No one had dared to mock him in a long time, but he could hear the other skaters tittering nearby and imagined it was directed at him. It had to be.

As soon as they got onto the ice, the Host’s left foot skidded sideways and he badly stifled a yelp, clutching at Google’s upper arm with both hands. The android pressed close to accommodate him and as soon as he recovered his balance, the Host glowered at him.

“Google could have given some forewarning about _that_ step,” he pointed out in a growl.

“Oops,” Google countered simply, untangling their arms and shuffling around to face him, extending both hands toward him. Squaring his shoulders and exhaling slowly to steel himself, the Host grasped them, resisting the urge to pull back as he discovered how icy they were. Without another word, Google began dragging the Host across the ice.

Of all days for his Sight to be troublesome, it would _naturally_ be today, right now, when he was completely out of his element, the Host learned straightaway, swallowing hard and swiveling his head back and forth hopelessly. He had no idea what was going on around them; they were in open, biting air and all he could feel was the ice underneath him and Google’s trembling arms acting as his towlines. At any moment someone could crash into them and he would have no warning or a way of preventing it.

He _despised_ being out of control, he mused scathingly, retightening his grip on Google’s wrists. For neither the first nor last time, he wished Dark had accompanied them. If it was his friend leading him, he was sure to have much more confidence. Like this, it was frankly a miracle that he managed to stay upright with help, much less on his own. He didn’t want to imagine what might happen if Google let him go.

The android himself didn’t seem particularly stable; every so often he would slow, a large, vibrational shudder rolling through his frame like he was a dog shaking itself off, and then he continued hobbling awkwardly along as if nothing had happened. From somewhere far away, the Host could hear Wilford jeering at the pair of them, the sound echoing off railings so the Host couldn’t quite pinpoint where it was coming from. If he had, he would have narrated something unfortunate in his direction, but as it was, his cheeks stung against the cool air as he flushed.

“I’ll remember to add him to the list of people to destroy,” Google muttered shallowly, to which the Host couldn’t help but huff lightly in agreement. He highly doubted that was ever going to happen, but it was the thought that counted.

If he was honest, he could only surmise what he and Google looked like to an outside viewer. If there was one way they were alike it was that neither of them moved gracefully, even on solid ground. The Host rarely moved from his office chair at all and when he did, he was stilted and rigid—that or he could barely find the strength to stand upright after the toll his visions took on him. Google had gotten better about checking his walk cycle, making sure it wasn’t quite so robotic, but his abrupt turns and sudden stops gave off the distinct impression of a malfunctioning bumper cart.

“By the way…the Host would like to inquire,” he panted, wishing he didn’t sound so breathless, “how Google intends to kill the humans around him while he is supporting the Host with both hands.”

“I am not entirely sure myself,” Google admitted, shrugging expansively and then pushing in close as the Host stumbled because of it. “T-To be honest, I had not planned that far ahead.”

That…didn’t sound at all like Google, the Host realized, suspicion flickering in his stomach. “Then the Host would like to know the details of Google’s plan thus far, if he intends to survive a full circuit around the rink,” he commented evenly, flinching to his right as he felt another skater pass by, nearly smacking his shoulder.

“I intended to expand on our trust…r-recruit you here,” Google announced guiltlessly, with another smaller shrug and a larger shudder, pausing to take a few deep breaths before he added, “Or at the very least strike up a p-proper regard between us.”

Had Google sensed his thoughts from earlier about their rare interactions? the Host wondered as he hazarded, “Google wants to make an ally out of the Host…without Dark being a necessary component?”

“That’s correct.” Google offered a sharp nod, staggering a little as he explained, “D-Dark and I already have a rapport, but he has a greater fondness for you and I intended to find out why. It was…necessary that you were v-v-vulnerable enough for me to examine.”

At that the Host went rigid, clenching Google’s wrists with such force that there was an audible creak before he tore his hands away and slid clumsily to a stop. “The Host is nowhere near _vulnerable!_ ” he seethed. “He doesn’t require your help and doesn’t appreciate your examination…and he _strongly suggests_ that Google maintain a respectful distance until the group convenes for dinner this evening!”

“You _do_ have a temper,” Google commented deliberately, barely acknowledging the threat, and somehow that was very much like Dark. “I don’t mean to offend you. I was simply trying to analyze your reaction to an uncomfortable situation.”

“And what exactly Google conclude from his analysis?”

“That Dark offers you something I don’t,” Google mused thoughtfully. “He acknowledges your weakness…He deigns to help you. So please forgive me and allow _me_ to assist.” The Host maintained his tense stance as Google moved closer, extending a hand to him again, and suggested, “We can continue in silence, if you’d like.”

“Though the Host’s fresh distrust of Google will take longer to thaw than the android might hope,” the narrator answered pointedly, “he is aware that he doesn’t know the way back to the exit and wouldn’t be able to reach it without help. However, he does appreciate the silence.” With that he latched onto Google’s hand and tugged hard in a random direction, as if it was precisely where he wanted to go.

Not too long afterward, by no small fault of Google's malfunctioning guidance systems, they ended up causing a six-person pileup—in which Wilford was on the very bottom, flailing and cursing—and the Host would never admit it, but he genuinely hadn’t seen it coming. It very well could’ve been considered the highlight of his day.

**Author's Note:**

> Just let Dark skate with him next time, 'kay? That would have ended much better if it had been him! Either that or our cranky Host would never have ended up there at all!
> 
> Also does anyone else notice that Google sucks at relationships? Just me? XD
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Leave a kudos or a comment to tell me what you thought; I'd love to hear from you!


End file.
